"I'm going to build a fire for you, mamma," he announced. The homely mongrel whined a welcome to the little lad's appearance, and with his tail beat a friendly tattoo upon the kennel floor; but the woman spoke no word. With impassive face she watched the shivering little figure as it hurried into its clothes, and then, with celerity born of experience, went about the making of a fire. Suddenly a hitherto unthought-of possibility flashed into the boy's mind, and leaving his work he came back to the bunk. "Are you sick, mamma?" he asked. Instantly the woman's face softened. "Yes, laddie," she answered gently. Carefully as a nurse, the small protector replaced the cover at his mother's back, where his exit had left a gap; then returned to his work. "You must have it warm here," he said. Not until the fire in the old cylinder makeshift was burning merrily did he return to his patient; then, standing straight before her, he looked down with an air of childish dignity that would have been comical had it been less pathetic. "Are you very sick, mamma?" he said at last, hesitatingly. "I am dying, little son." She spoke calmly and impersonally, without even a quickening of the breath. The thin hand, lying on the tattered cover, did not stir. "Mamma!" the old-man face of the boy tightened, as, bending over the bed, he pressed his warm cheek against hers, now growing cold and white. At the mouth of the kennel two bright eyes were watching curiously. Their owner wriggled the tip of his muzzle inquiringly, but the action brought no response. Then the muzzle went into the air, and a whine, long-drawn and insistent, broke the silence. The boy rose. There was not a trace of moisture in his eyes, but the uncannily aged face seemed older than before. He went over to a peg where his clothes were hanging and took down the frayed garment that answered as an overcoat. From the bunk there came another cough, quickly muffled; but he did not turn. Cap followed coat, mittens cap; then, suddenly remembering, he turned to the stove and scattered fresh chips upon the glowing embers. "Good-bye, mamma," said the boy. The mother had been watching him, although she gave no sign. "Where are you going, sonny?" she asked. "To town, mamma. Someone ought to know you're sick." There was a moment's pause, wherein the mongrel whined impatiently. "Aren't you going to kiss me first, Benjamin?" The little lad retraced his steps, until, bending over, his lips touched those of his mother. As he did so, the hand which had lain upon the coverlet shifted to his arm detainingly. "How were you thinking of going, son?" A look of surprise crept into the boy's blue eyes. A question like this, with its obvious answer, was unusual from his matter-of-fact mother. He glanced at her gravely. "I'm going afoot, mamma." "It's ten miles to town, Benjamin." "But you and I walked it once together. Don't you remember?"